The Mighty Bonnie
by Sw0rd Slinger
Summary: What happens when Bonnie learns she is the Norse god of thunder? Venture forth humble reader and learn!
1. Chapter 1

_Once, humanity knew a single truth: that they were not alone… their world was but one of many; one of nine realms, and that beings of tremendous power could traverse these realms. Some of these beings, humanity saw for what they were—monsters and demons. Others, seen as a shining beacon of light in a sea of darkness, were worshiped as gods, and looked to for guidance, wisdom, and protection._

_Many a time has the Mortal Realm, served as a battleground. From a land of cold and darkness, came the Frost Giants, seeking in there conquest to plunge the mortal world into a new ice age. Yet, mankind would not stand alone. From the Realm Eternal… From Asgard, the shining light of the Nine Worlds, the home of the gods, came salvation. Odin, the All-Father, leading the hosts of Asgard against the hordes of Ymir and Laufey. His armies drove the Frost Giants back into the heart of their world. The cost was great, but in the end, both their progenitor and king were defeated._

_With the last Great War ended, the gods withdrew from world of man, their Middle Fortress… their Midgard and returned home. However the treat remains; there are forces ever seeking to bring about the Ragnarok—the end of days._

The Realm Eternal… Asgard.

A glittering haven is Asgard, of golden spires, shining out across to all realms in resplendent glory.

Heimdall, guardian of the Bifrost Bridge, stood unwavering at his post; his ever-vigilant eye seeing all who would dare to pass his watch. "Hold," he called, raising a gauntleted hand, "what business has thou, to cross the Rainbow Bridge?"

"'Tis the business of thy king, Good Heimdall," answered one of the many guards Odin, the king of Asgard. Hauled behind the king by another pair of guards, was a man bound in heavy chains, his arms braced to a rod across his back. In all his long years, Heimdall had never expected to witness this. The prisoner was Thor, champion of Asgard.

They stopped at the great gilded brass doors of the Bifrost. "Leave us," commanded Odin. Bowing, the guards turned on their heels and marched back the way they came. The gatekeeper too, moved, though only so far as to be out of earshot. He was bound by honor and duty, to guard the Bifrost, and to obey his king.

With a wave of Odin's hand, the chains fell from Thor's mighty frame. The Thunderer rose to his feet, head and shoulder bent, as though he still felt the massive weight of the chains upon his body. "Thor Odinson, you stand now before the gates of the Bifrost, because thou hath betrayed the expressed command of thine Father and King. Through your actions, you have perpetrated upon this peaceful realm the cruelty and horrors of war. Now others shalt bear the price of thou's arrogance! Thou are unworthy, of this realm! Thou are unworthy of your title! Thou are unworthy… of the loved ones you betrayed."

A tear fell from Odin's eye. "What I do now, I do for the good of all Asgard. I take from thee, your power. By this decree, until such time as you gain humility, thou are banished from the Realm Eternal—bound to a mortal soul. I, Odin Allfather, cast thee out!"

"Donald," the familiar voice of his fiancée, pulled Doctor Donald Blake from his troubled sleep, "Donald, darling, what is it?"

Bolting upright, the man clutched at his head, "I-it was that dream, Janet. It was that dream again!" Dream—it was nightmare! It was always the same one, the same nightmare… but this one had been different. He felt, his lover press her nude body into his, her arms wrapping around him, holding him in a tight embrace. A tear landed on his shoulder. He did not speak, simply twisting around to kiss her lightly, though his passion for her burned hotter than the sun.

Every night for the past three weeks, he had had that dream—that nightmare of a woman dressed in green, her black, lifeless eyes boring into him. She sat, filling a gigantic throne carved of stone, backlit by geysers of flame. A great horned helmet obscuring most of her face, but always her dead eyes stared into him. At her side lounged a bare, easily larger than any other he could think of, yet next to this woman, it seemed no more than a dog. She even stroked idly at its fur as if it were!

Finally, when he could stand that lifeless gaze no more, he spun away from her… only to stare out on an endless expanse of barren rock. He sank to his knees, caring naught for the agony in his crippled leg. The bleak countryside—pillars of stone jutting from the ground in a pale mockery of trees—no less anesthetizing than the eyes of the woman on the throne, brought to mind a great sense of despair. Throughout the landscape, specters haunted the land. Translucent shadows of the people they had been.

The dream was always the same, but tonight it had been different. And that more than anything else terrified him.

The woman, for all her immense size, was beside him now whispering in his ear, "This shall be thine fate, Odinson. There is nowhere in the Nine Realms thou can hide from me. Your soul shall been mine, Asgarian, and I will keep it fore'er." Her voice was as dead as her eyes.

Donald threw back the covers, dressing quickly. He rose from the bed, walking out of the room, his bad leg forcing him to move with an awkward gate. Behind him, Janet's slipper-padded footfalls came quickly. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain of his protesting thigh, as he descended down the stairs. Pulling his coat on, he slowed at the door, so as not to slam it and wake the twin angels still fast asleep upstairs.

Out in the fresh, cool night air, he instantly felt better. Breathing deeply, he could fell himself relax. Just being out in the night air was not enough—he had to move! He would pay for it tomorrow, but he just had to move. Placing one foot in front of the other, the pain came again. A twinge—a throb!—a spike! Finally, he sat on a bench, massaging his thigh. His knee felt like gravel and his foot was ready to fall off. He would defiantly pay for this tomorrow.

Hearing footfalls again, he looked up to see Janet running to him. He must have been moving more swiftly than even he realized to have to make her _run_! "Donald, what is the matter with you? You wake the three of us up screaming your head off, you sound like you're about to choke on something, and then you storm off into the night without another word. All because of that damned nightmare! Donald, I love you! Connie and Lonnie adore you! Please just talk to me—to us!"

Janet threw herself at him, again wrapping her arms around him. "I can't" he said, anguish filling his voice. How could he? How could he possibly explain that that dream was not just some figment of his imagination? It was _real_—he knew it was! He could not. It was like a phantom from another life—it was real, and one day he would stand before that giant on her throne, in that world of lifelessness, to be looked upon as some trophy. How could you explain knowing about your death and that everything you had been raised to believe in was wrong? There was no Heaven or Hell, just that… No word he could think of could describe it.

"Donald," she broke into his thoughts, "please, you have to tell me if we're going to be a family."

"Alright, Janet," he conceded, "but first let's head home so you don't freeze out here," noting for the first time, all she had on where her sneakers and the light, nearly shear robe he had gotten her for her birthday last week.

"Okay," was all she said, handing him his cane, which he had also not noticed until now. It was a gnarled old thing he had found years back when a hiking accident had first crippled him. He had never fully gotten use to it. Sighing, he planted the cane squarely on the ground, heaving himself from the bench. Slowly he and Janet made their way home. Once at the steps the door flew open and he was bombarded by twin streaks of blonde and brunette. Dropping his cane, he grabbed up the eight-year-old pair in one massive bear hug, lifting them off the ground before carrying them inside.

His leg was on fire with pain, but it did not matter. He was happy. For the first time in a long time, he was happy! "I love you, Janet Rockwaller—from the day I met you, you have had my heart and soul," he said, stepping back out to carry her in, his hands on her waist…

That was when he heard the screech of tiers—the splintering of wood. He felt his side explode in pain, and he heard Her voice, that soft haunting whisper, "You are mine, Odinson."

* * *

_Bleep, bleep, bleep, bleep._ The constant beeping of a heart monitor, invaded the blissful bubble unconsciousness that surrounded Janet Rockwaller. Groggily she opened her eyes, tried to sit up, but she felt so weak. "Oh, you're awake," she heard a small cheery voice say, "I'll go get the Doctor." She just stared at the ceiling. Why could she not move; what had made her so weak? Then a though flashed through her mind, _Where was Donald?_ The last she remembered he had stormed out of the house after having that dream again. There was something else but it was fuzzy, too indistinct to recall more than an impression.

"Good morning," a new voice called, "you're finally awake; we were beginning to think you never would. My name is Dr. Andrea Possible, and I'm filling in for Dr. Benton."

"H-how," Janet croaked. Her throat was so dry! She had to be out of it for a month at least for it to be this bad. "How lo-ong… " Silence answered her and it hung, stretching uncomfortably long. "How long?" she demanded, stronger this time.

"This may be a shock, but you were in a coma for thirteen years," the doctor finally answered. Thirteen years! She had been asleep for thirteen YEARS! It was not true, it could not be. No, it was wrong. This was all just a sick joke. It had to be. It had to be!—or… a tear rolled down her cheek as the awful truth crashed home. She had missed thirteen years of her babies' lives—her little girls would be grown women now.

_Where was Donald?_ Again, that thought flashed through her mind. "Carolyn, has already contacted your family, your daughters will be here shortly," the doctor said.

"Wha—what about Donald?" she was so tired all of a sudden, but she forced herself to continue, "Donald Blake, my fiancé?"

Janet felt movement on the bed; the doctor had finally come into view. "I'm sorry to have to inform you," Dr. Possible said all too professionally, "but Dr. Blake was pronounced dead at the scene when the ambulance arrived for you after the accident."

"No," she uttered barely audible. For the second time that day, her entire world had collapsed. Her Donald was dead. The man she loved more than any other in the world was gone. More tears began to stream down her cheeks

She felt a hand on her own, it was unexpectedly comforting, "I'll give you a moment; you look like you need to rest anyway." She felt the doctor get up, hearing the sharp click and seeing the lights dim. She was alone again. More than that, she was _alone_! Without Donald, she felt lost, as if she was being swept away by an unstoppable tide. He had been her rock. Without him…

Exhaustion claimed her.

* * *

It was a sunless, slate-grey sky—a respectful somber day to match the mournful mood of the people walking through the cemetery. "Thanks again T," Bonnie Rockwaller said to her best friend Tara Mathews, as she dabbed at her tears, "I don't think I could drive. Not today."

"It's okay," the blonde said, her near perpetual smile respectfully absent. "I'd be a wreck too if my mom just died. I know you weren't close to her… but still."

"It's alright T," the brunette responded, sniffleing lightly, "I just… It's humbling to realize I took her for granted. I guess I've picked up more of Him than I'd like to admit."

Tara knew the 'Him' that Bonnie was referring to was Mr. Rockwaller. She did not know the exact name for his relation to her; the closet she could think of was 'step-father'. More accurately—at least according to him—she was his ex-wife's bastard. It was also a measure of his belief in Christian charity that he sheltered, clothed, fed, educated, and most importantly shared his name with her, rather than letting foster care take her. _If anything_, Tara thought, _he's the bastard!_

She was brought from her musings when they reached her car. The two teens climbed into the powder blue convertible. It was an older model, nonetheless it was in good shape and did not cost too much to maintain. Though if gas prices continued to climb she would have to go back to riding her scooter—not an option, or so Bonnie claimed.

Looking over at her friend made her heart sink. For the ninth time that day, she was overcome with a wave of sympathetic grief. To anyone else she looked like the cool, calculating, Queen Bonnie who had instilled a near primal fear into almost all with the lash of her acid tongue. To her however, she saw a heartbroken girl who had lost her mother after just meeting her. In all it was possibly the cruelest trick fate could have ever played.

"So what now," Tara asked.

Bonnie looked at her blank faced. "I don't know T. I just don't know." She sighed, "We were supposed to go vacationing in Norway, so we could get to know each other, and I could learn about my father—my _real_ father. But now…"

A silence settled over them; it stretched long seconds into minutes, and longer still filling the nearly hour drive from Edgerton Heights Cemetery back to Middleton. Finally, Tara could stand it no longer. "B, take the vacation. Get away from it all for the summer, so you can grieve. Then you can come back refreshed and bitchyer than ever."

A small smile cracked the brunette's stony façade. _Oh, yeah; I'm good_, Tara thought, returning the smile.


	2. Chapter 2

The Mighty Bonnie—Chapter 1

The sun beat down on her face and Bonnie reveled in the warmth of it. The American high school cheerleader sat, resting after a long hike through the woods surrounding a small village in Norway. With barely a cloud in the sky, it was a beautiful day. Despite being a bright and sunny mid-summer day, she wore a heavy jacket. It was only in the seventies, and not expected to climb any higher that day. Even in her native Colorado, the temperature had barely cracked the eighties last summer. So much for global warming!—hah! Birds were singing, and the view was absolutely breathtaking. Breathing deeply, she inhaled the scents of the forest around her. The crisp grass, the nutty aroma of trees, mixed with musty undertones of earth. And best of all: not a soul around but her. No sisters; no stepfather to browbeat her. Freedom from Him—from his twisted claim of charity.

Just freedom!

She loved it!

She was content, for the first time in all her life. Nothing had ever brought her so much joy. Not gymnastics, not being the Queen Bee, not even cheerleading. Yes, she loved those things, but her happiness with them was short-lived, as her sisters continually berated her for not living up to their perfect example. How could she? How could she when she had to deal with certain redhead, whose sole purpose in life seemed to be to show her up at every turn? Oh, how she despised Kim!

It galled at her; taunted her, until she could take no more. That bitch! She barely lifted a finger and won accolades blindly! It was not fair. She had stolen the apex—the apex!—only to bail when the squad needed her. The others had placed their loyalty in her and she spat on it by showing them none in return. If nothing else, that was her truly unforgivable crime in the eyes of the Food Chain. So what if some idiot is doing two hundred down the interstate? That is _not_ a good enough reason to forfeit Regionals. That is what cops were for. Then she expects everyone to drop what they are doing because she had nothing to do that Friday? Phu-leeease! News flash—the world does not revolve around Kim Possible. Her ego, on the other hand, _might_ be big enough for a small moon.

Bonnie took a deep breath. It seemed, no matter what she did, or where she went, Kim's shadow hung over her life. These ruminations were doing her no good. Shaking them away, the brunette rose from the fallen log she had used as a seat. Griping tightly to the walking stick that had been her father's, she started back to the hostel where she was staying. She could not explain why, but just holding her father's old cane gave her an odd sense of safety. Almost as if she could feel a hidden power in the gnarled old wood. Sighing, she dismissed the notion as one of pure imagination.

Pausing as she came to a fork in the path, the cheerleader considered her options. She could take the right fork and be back at the hostel within the hour… Or, she could take the left. Judging by the sun, or rather the shadows cast, it was still well short of noon. Something felt… 'Off' was the only word that sprang to mind. She had been hiking for hours, since well before the sun was up yet she did not feel tired. She felt… energized, like she could keep on hiking for days. What the hell?—she had a lunch packed, so she let her feet decide. They chose left.

Letting go and placing one foot in front of the other, the trail took her back into the woods. Reaching into her pocket, she fished out her ear buds and I-pod. Placing the buds in her ears, she held her I-pod up scrolling through the menu to one of her guilty pleasure playlists. If anyone—other than Tara, who already knew her secret, of course—caught her listening to this she would disavow any knowledge of it, and embark on a campaign to obliterate their reputation. Hitting the play button, the familiar tones of Viking Rock sounded in her ears.

She could not explain why, but she _loved_ Viking Rock. The uncanny, almost contradictory blending of heavy metal with Scandinavian and Celtic folk music just seemed to resonate deep in her soul. To be honest, she could care less about Britannia, MC Honey, the Oh! Boyz, or whatever new, spur-of-the-moment pop diva had the headlines right now. Oh, she liked them; even were she not required to as the Queen Bee of Middleton High, but they lacked something. Whatever that _something_ was, Viking Rock had it, and she connected to it on a primal level. Hope was the same way with Mullet Rock, though she could not quite see the attraction, but still good music was good music.

Allowing her mind to wander with the music, Bonnie's thoughts came randomly to her. Thoughts of Tara, thoughts of her sisters, thoughts of fashion, thoughts of Brick, and unexpectedly thoughts of Ron; she examined all of these in turn.

Tara was and would always be her best friend. They had met in ballet class, although Tara had stopped after the third year. For a while, the bubbly blonde had gone through a 'tomboy phase', rebelling against the over-girlyness imposed by her puri-tyrannical 'rents. Their friendship, however, remained strong. Finally, in the end, Bonnie's patients won out, and she convinced her friend to 'walk the line' by doing something that conformed to her parents' expectations, but still allowed her to be her won woman. The answer—cheerleading!—naturally!

Her sisters were a pain in her ass! Unfortunately, she could not lay the blame squarely on them. 'He' had changed them. Jonathan Rockwaller was a man whose soul was black as pitch—that is if he even had one to begin with. The man lacked any semblance of morality whatsoever, while hypocritically prating the virtues of charity, kindness, and understanding. Then he would turn around and preach that it was the duty of every good Christian to rid the earth of as many Godless heathens as they could. Lonnie now hung on his every word, following him without question. Doing anything and any_one,_ he ordered her to. Connie, even though she knew better, could see the hurt and the hate, did not have the strength to tell him "no".

Bonnie sighed. Somehow she did. For some inexplicable reason she could tell him no when her sisters could not. Perhaps it was all the torment they had levied on her, which gave her such fortitude. Or more likely, it was the fact that he was not truly her father, and there was already a schism between them. Whatever the reason, she was thankful for it.

Noticing the trees starting to thin, she looked around for a trail marker, only to realize she was no longer on the trail. Well that was just great! Nonetheless, she kept moving; strangely not perturbed in the least. More and more she was beginning to feel a tugging from within, as if she was being pulled somewhere. Something about the forest around her seemed familiar, but she could not put her finger on it. It was like some half-forgotten memory scratching—no clawing!—at the back of her mind. Yet on she hiked.

What should she wear when school started? She only had a month left to decide if she should completely replace her wardrobe, or stay with her old outfits. She needed to be at the cutting edge of fashion! That meant buying new! Somewhere she had heard thrifty was the 'new black', for now. That meant keeping the old! Another source had told her cutesy-punk was in. Yet another, that retro was making its third comeback. After spinning it around in her head all summer her only hope was to mix, match, and pray. It was a move of last resort, but these were desperate times and called for outstanding intuition.

When school started, she would also have to face the consequences of her earth-shattering breakup with supper-jock Brick Flagg. The passion had gone out of their relationship when the big ox had taken her to a monster truck rally for her birthday, then tried to sneak off with another girl. She was still surprised she had broken his jaw with that punch! The team had lost the game that night, and her hand had hurt like hell, but it was worth it. The girl had been some chit from Upperton, whose now crooked nose and lazy eye would remind her to be wary the next time she tried to poach someone's boyfriend. Snarling in silent fury, she still wanted to rip the blockhead limb from limb, starting with his shortest!

The thought of Ron popping into her mind nearly made her stumble, not a good thing near the edge of a cliff. CLIFF?! When had…? Her head whipped around so fast it sent the buds flying from her ears. Sure enough, she was out of the forest, and climbing a mountain. She was on an impromptu path, a ledge no more than three feet wide with a sheer cliff to the left. Checking the sun, she had a few hours of daylight left. She could not make it back to the hostel in time. There was no way in hell! Well, maybe if she ran, but she was completely lost. But she was not worried, nor scared. The tugging sensation was stronger now, defiantly pulling her somewhere. Whatever it was, it was also making her calmer than she should be.

That was when the alarm finally began to ring. Time to turn around and run for it; now, would be good. Run away—NOW! No matter what she tried, she kept moving forward. With every step, her disobedient feet took her closer to… What?—she did not know. With a resigned huff, the brunette let her feet carry her to their destination. Come this far, may as well go all the way.

Her wayward feet finally came to a stop near the top of a hill, just in front of a cave. The view was extraordinary! Form here she could see everything! Looking down on the trees, with a bird's eye view was stunning to say the least. The she could make out the gentle slope of the valley below. Here and there, boulders dotted the landscape. It was so lovely, so pristine. No other place on earth could be so beautiful.

A perplexing sense of ease permeated her being. She felt at home. She _was_ home! She did not know how; all she knew is that she was. More voraciously than ever that half-memory raged against whatever barrier her mind had sealed it behind. She was _home_! As it raged, it stirred others. Distant and foggy, she could not remember, and yet she could not forget. It was a torment beyond words.

Suddenly it all made sense, and she laughed at the simplicity of it. It had finally happened. After everything she had been through, she had snapped; gone 'round the bend. She was nuts, wacko, mad, loony. She was undeniably, unconditionally bat-shit crazy … _insane_! Nothing else made sense, or was just as crazy. Better to go in voluntarily than dragged in kicking and screaming. And she could do something with the state issued pajamas a la Sahara Connor.

Safe in the knowledge she was crazy, Bonnie turned around to head back to the hostel, after all what self-respecting lunatic did _not_ go walking through a forest after dark? She got two steps before she remembered her father's cane. She had dropped it when she began laughing. Again turning around, she marched back to the mouth of the cave, bent to retrieve the cane. When her hand closed on the wooden haft that was when she saw them!

If she were not already crazy, she would not believe her eyes! Sitting at the base of the mountain was a flying saucer of all things. Coming into view from under it were men made of rock. What would she think of next? Settling in to watch the show her psychotic break was playing for her, she suddenly wished she had some pop corn.

From this distance, she had to squint slightly to make them out clearly. She was about to berate herself for hallucinating something so completely out of focus when one of them pointed at her and spoke. "Brothers, look a native! We must capture it for study!"

Another of the rock-men turned to face her, raising its arm, a small metallic device glinting in the late afternoon light. Suddenly a bright yellowish flair enveloped the device. A split second later the stone of the ledge near Bonnie's feet exploded in a hiss of rushing steam coming from the vaporized rock. Shards and shrapnel rained down on her, stinging where they ripped into her exposed flesh, and burning into her clothing. She threw herself backwards as a second shot streaked towards her. Crazy or not, those things were _real_.

That cohesive beam of energy flashed passed, missing her by the barest fraction of an inch. She could almost feel the heat wanting to blister her face. NOT crazy! As it was, that kneejerk reaction saved her. Seeing the laser hit dead above where she had been, she watched in horror as the mouth of the cave began to collapse. She was trapped!

"NOOOOooooo!" she wailed in lamentation. She had survived being attacked by a fish-faced freak wanting revenge for something he did to himself; a hoard of clones; rampages by giant robots; monkey ninjas; kidnapped by more robots looking for a queen; and worst of all a zit on picture day!

And she was going to rot away in this hole?—not a chance!—not while she still lived would she give up! Her ire rose to the point of boiling over, without thinking she slammed the cane down on the boulders blocking her way. A brilliant light filled the cave; a light of such intensity, it seared away walls within her consciousness, and those maddening half-memories came forward in a flood. She remembered!

She was the mighty Thor, the god of Thunder! In her hand was not a cane, but a hammer, the hammer Mjolnir! Her hammer!—and beneath it, the shattered remains of the boulder she had struck. "By the power of Asgard!" She shouted, raising Mjolnir aloft, summoning lighting. She could hear it crackle, and buzz. Pointing the mighty hammer towards the mouth of the cave, she unleashed its power. Lightning leaped from the hammer, obliterating the stone.

The Thunder-god strode through the open mouth of the cave, now littered with shards of stone. Into the light of day she walked her face a grim mask of determination as she scanned the valley below. Her boots crunched the loose gravel underfoot. The breeze caught the loose fabric of her cape and skirt billowing them. Letting Mjolnir hang by the thong wrapped around her wrist she reached up pulling the winged helmet from her head, freeing her blonde-tipped brunette locks to fall past her shoulders.

Replacing the helmet, and with barely a glance back at the place of her birth and now rebirth, the Thunderess whirled her hammer around, before taking flight. Sailing through the air, borne aloft by the North Winds, she sought in earnest the rock-men—the Kronans—she had seen earlier. Suddenly, and violently she was knocked from the sky. She knew that heat; it was the laser. The cowards! They had shot her in the back. Another blast drover her into the ground, and she cried out as waves of agony ripped through every fiber of her being.

Dimly she heard one of the Kronans say, "We have subdued the creature." The Thunder-goddess climbed to her feet as a great metal dome crashed down around her. How dare they!—to imprison _her_?! She would show them! Hefting the might hammer over her head, she charged hurling blow after blow at the side of the dome. By the forth hammer-stroke she had punched through the dome. She was free at last to face her foes.

The Kronans charged her, and she rushed to meet them in combat. At nearly eight-feet in height, the alien rock-men towered over her. Yet that did not daunt her, she had faced giants thrice that size, and stood victorious. She was second in power only to omnipotent Odin himself.

She swung Mjolnir with all her might at the first she came to, sending him staggering back into the others. One jumped aside, his headlong charge unchecked. He levered a massive ham sized fist of stone down at her. She ducked back from the crushing blow as it crunched into the earth. An overhead swing brought her mighty sledge down, pulverizing the arm.

The Kronan gasped in shock, looking down at the jagged stump and pile gravel that use to be its arm. Her knee came up, catching the alien under the chin, snapping its head back before sprawling limply on the ground. Three of the other Kronans gathered around their wounded confederate as a fourth wrapped his arms around a tree and then ripped it up by the roots. Closing on her, he wielded the tree with uncanny strength and skill, striking at her from the side.

With the aid of Mjolnir, she leapt over the great cudgel, and then ducked under the backhand swing, before bringing her hammer up into the stone-man's crotch with thunderous force. Before her eyes he began to crumble, the herculean might of his stony limbs wavering and he dropped the tree. Yet, before she could do more, his hands fell about her neck. His enormous hands should have easily snapped her neck. They would have if she was a mortal of Midgard, but she was a god. Still the stone brut worked his fingers, trying to squeeze the life from her. All the while he still crumbled, fissures and cracks running up his torso, spreading to his arms. The might of Mjonir's strike had sealed his doom, and yet he fought. The Kronan struggled unto his last, when what remained of his body shattered.

The Thunderess coughed, gasping for air, for life itself. Cowards they may be, yet when goaded to close quarters they were worthy adversaries. Her temper roiled, thunderclouds blackened the sky, lightning flashed. Her countenance was a reflection of the sky above. Flexing her grip on the handle of her great sledge, she stared at the beings across from her. One of them reached to his chest. A disk in his breastplate lit, flashing red. A beacon!

After several seconds, she heard a high-pitched swishing sound, barely audible over the howling winds that raged with her fury. The saucer flew overhead. A deep rumbling echoed the _Swizzzch_ of the alien craft.

"Margus, no," one of the Kronans shouted.

"We have no choice, Korg," Margus, the one who activated the beacon, replied, "It must be done, or Granix's loss will have been in vain."

From the ship, a metallic sphere the size of a tank descended, crashing heavily to the ground before the Thunder-goddess. The rumbling she had heard was coming from the sphere. Four geysers of thick black smoke belched from the top as the sphere reconfigured. Plating folded in on itself, revealing the skeletal frame of an enormous robotic construct within. More plating retracted from the sphere, bionic servos whirring and pulsing, as the struts contracted into the frame. Once inside the frame, the struts contorted, rolled, shifted, and then extended the plaiting over the skeletal frame. In several places, the plaiting came together in an overlapping pattern.

Finally, the thing's insectoid head rose up from its chest, the last few plates locking into place. It was a monstrosity, standing on two of its six limbs that seemed to serve as either legs or arms. The rumbling grew louder, and smoke continued to spew ports in the robot's back. The eyes glowed bright crimson.

The Thunderess stood ready, Mjolnir gripped in hand. Black clouds swirled overhead, lightning flashed. Gusting wind again billowed her skirt and cape. Thunder boomed, and lightning crashed once more.

The glow from the eyes intensified, flaring outward in twin beams of death, which struck true. She screamed at the pain shooting through her body. The force of the beams threw her against the wall of the dome. As she hit the machine fired again, pinning her. She could feel the heat beginning to blister her flesh, boring into her, under the unrelenting torrent of pain. Such pain! It was excruciating. Would this be her end? Nay! Gritting her teeth, she worked her protesting arm. Slowly, ever so slowly it rose. Utilizing every last fiber of her will, she summoned a bolt of lightning to strike at her mechanical assailant.

It struck square in the head, shorting out one of the eyes. With the intensity of the attack diminished, the Thunder-goddess found her strength renewed, and hurled her great sledge at the robot. The enchanted hammer careened off head of the thing before arcing back to fly into her hand. Breathing heavily from exhaustion, she glared up at the robot, razing Mjolnir high, whirling the hammer to again take flight.

Once aloft, she summoned more lightning to her, before again launching Mjolnir at the machine. The hammer hurtled towards the robot at breakneck speed, smashing into it, and then loosing the pent up fury of a harnessed storm in a brilliant explosion. Again, the enchanted weapon returned to her grasp.

Settling back to the ground, she held her hammer at the ready waiting for the dust to clear. From the thinning dust the mangled frame of the mechanical terror rose, looming over her. Two of the limbs were missing along its right side, wild arcs of electricity jumped from one ruined socket to the other. "By the thousand threats of Ragnarok!" she exclaimed, as the robot charged her. Preparing for the worst, she made ready to battle the machine one last time. Abruptly it seized up, staggering two more steps before falling in a heap, the eyes diming. Electricity continued to arc over the husk, until it was reduced to scrap by a series of internal explosions.

Looking around she could not see the Kronans anywhere, nor their vessel. They had fled while she was preoccupied with the robot. Wearily she made her way to a tree, and sat against it. The abruptness of the situation had forced her into action before she could resolve her crises of identity. Who was she Bonnie, or Thor? Mayhap neither or both; she certainly remembered both. 'Twas puzzling. Sighing she lifted her gaze skyward.

She would have no answer this night as sleep claimed her. As she did so, the handle of Mjolnir struck the ground. A light enveloped her, returning her to mortal form.


	3. Chapter 3

The Mighty Bonnie—Chapter 2

The chirping of a bird drew Bonnie from her exhausted slumber. Yawning as she stretched. The customary pops and crackles sounded as bones, muscles, and tendons left to sit too long moved for the first time that morning. Wincing as something in her shoulder shifted wrong, her other hand automatically came to massage it. Another, larger yawn nearly cracked her jaw. Though not fully awake yet, she could tell she was sitting up. She was also sore. Had she fallen asleep in a chair?

One of her eyelids lazily, reluctantly pealed back revealing a copse of trees and a sward of grass. Amidst the grass were the smoking remains of a giant robot. Her other eye flew open, and she sprang to her feet. This was _not_ the hostel! Putting her back to the tree she had been laying against, her head whipping this way and that, searching for a threat—any threat at all. Shocked to full consciousness by the jolt of adrenalin flooding her system, her memories of yesterday slammed home.

She remembered being drawn to the cave not a hundred yards distant; the alien stone-men who had attacked her; striking her father's cane against a boulder. More importantly, she remembered who she truly was—Thor! In that instant, the wild panic that had filled her became the calm clarity of a seasoned warrior, confident in her skill. The familiar drum of blood in her ears slowed. Reaching down she took hold of the gnarled piece of wood that was Mjolnir's guise, and struck the butt of the cane on the ground.

"By the power of Asgard!" godly might surged from the heavens through her, "I feel as mighty as Odin!" In place of a mortal cheerleader, there stood the Goddess of Thunder! Her cape and skirt fluttered in the light breeze. Loosing her grip on her enchanted hammer, it dropped from her fingers, only the thong wrapped around her wrist kept it from falling completely beyond her reach. With her godly powers restored, her banishment from Asgard was over. Yet she paused. It was a hesitation borne not of fear, but of uncertainty. Would the other gods accept her now as she was? Would they exile her from the Realm Eternal for all time?

The answer came to her from her mortal memories. For the longest time Liz had been terrified of what would happen when the squad found out she was a lesbian. That is until Bonnie had told her the squad already knew—that little white lie had given the redhead the courage to come out of the closet. The same principle applied her; if her friends truly loved her they would accept her!—no matter what! And if they did not, they were never truly her friends.

Raising her arm, her mighty sledge whirling overhead, she prepared to breach the dimensional gulfs separating Asgard from Midgard. Colored mist in the shining hues of the rainbow rose around her feet. Higher the mists climbed. Higher and higher still, beginning to swirl as the North Winds caught them up. Fully engulfed by the rainbow mists, a bolt of lightning streaked towards her. In a crash of thunder, she vanished into the mist as it dissipated.

* * *

"Hold steady the lines!" bellowed a heavily bearded man in ornate armor, a gilded pauldron of rank resting upon his right shoulder. "Hold," he shouted the command again, a touch of desperation creeping into his voice. His left flank was crumbling! Even augmented as it was by the prowess of the Warriors Three, his men continued to fall back. It was through no fault of their own, but a year of near constant battles had made his men weary.

The crash of sword on shield, and clangor of blade meeting blade was near deafening. Yet still his ox-like hollers sounded, giving orders to his men. "In the name of omnipotent Odin; in the name of Asgard—hold!" The ground under his feet, slicked with the blood of his enemies, leaped from under his feet as a boulder hurled from a catapult smashed into the great wall behind him. Massive slabs of stone rained down, shards the size of men pummeled the backside of his ranks. Slightly dazed, he climbed to his feet; the din of the battle was replaced by an empty, hollow ringing. The world seemed to tilt violently one way then another, but for all its rapid jarring, everything was slow and washed in a blur. His sword came up and he knew not why, even as an axe bore down on it, driving it to careen off his helmet. He could not parry the strike that parted his head from his body.

Balder, the son of Frigga—Balder the Brave, ran his sword through the dark elf that had just taken the head of one of his captains. Pulling the blade free in a spray of blood, he sought his next foe. Rushing forward, a mighty battle cry springing from his throat, he ducked under the clumsily swung axe of a fire giant. Again, his sword was sheathed in flesh, and bit bone. His continued charge tore free the weapon, and opening a ghastly wound though which the giant's entrails began to spill.

Scalding blood spilled over the giant's hand that now held the torn flesh of his side. A mighty swing brought his axe down, burying deep the head. But Balder darted aside near the last moment, and striking with all his might, severed the giant's arm at the wrist. The giant roared in pain, and the Asgardian ran behind it, drawing his blade across the calf, hamstringing and toppling the giant.

A cheer rose from the ranks of Asgardians, and they fought with a renewed fervor. And Balder lead the charge into an assemblage of trolls. One of the brutes wielded a cudgel of immense size, raking across a file of Asgardians, sending them flying. Managing to dodge the mighty weapon, the God of Beauty closed and rammed his sword though the belly of the troll. Bringing his boot up, he planted his foot to gain the leverage he needed to free his trapped blade from the creature's innards.

As he did so, the swipe of another troll's brawny arm batted him aside. The Asgardian felt the air driven from his lungs before being launched away by the power of the swing. Crashing down near the gate leading to Asgard, he coughed and gasped for air. Climbing to his feet his helmet toppled from his head. He breathed deeply despite the pain of doing so. He was Balder the Brave and he would not yield. He could not yield, not with the charge he held.

Rushing once more into battle, he saw only the Warriors Three holding the left against the onslaught. Hogun was dispatching his foes one after the other in his grim methodical fashion. Fandral, as ever, made a childish mockery of those he faced. Volstagg lounged against the corpse of a giant, breathing heavily as he did so, yet still deftly dodging the slashes and thrusts of the dark elf who assailed him.

Balder's blade met that of a dwarf's, and the two locked in contest, the compact creature pressing his attack, forced the Asgardian back, before overextending himself and finding the god's sword transfixed through his heart. Thereafter, yet another fiend beset him. The frost giant's hammer pounded the ground, a ring of frost racing outward from it. The hammer rose, and Balder shot between the giant's legs. He turned and ran his blade deep into his foe's thigh. A biting cold shot through him, forcing him to relinquish his weapon.

He stared at his palms. Patches of skin had torn from them, frozen to the pommel of his sword. He reached for a downed solder's sword, and it nearly fell from his blood-slicked, benumbed hands. Gritting his teeth, he wrapped fingers tightly around the hilt 'til his knuckles shown white, and cracked under the strain.

Screaming his fury, he charged a troll. Its colossal fist collided with his face. Again, he flew back, and again he rose. The force of the blow had rattled his teeth. Looking up, the troll leaped mightily and landed in front of him, its ham-fisted punch crashed into his chest, driving him to the ground.

Coughing, Balder rose again, sword in one hand, the other clutching his broken ribs. "You will have to slay me, Troll! For I shall not yield!" Yet as he spoke, the sky darkened, and lightning flared from the sky. Thunder echoed over the battlefield, and the hoards halted in their tracks. A bolt of lightning struck in front of the troll, and from that blinding flash leapt another bolt, catching the troll in the chest, to hurl it back into the roiling mass of Asgard's enemies.

Balder fell to his knees, his strength failing him. Strong arms wrapped him, gently leaning him back. He could only make out blonde hair and a familiar winged helm. "Thor…?"

She lay him back, shushing him softly, "Rest, Balder. Rest. Long hath thou held my charge in thine stead. This day Thor returns to Asgard. This day, Thor takes up her charge once more. This day the Thunderess does battle unto the enemies of Asgard." She stood, and then marched forward, Mjolnir in hand. Her face was a thunderhead, teal eyes fixed on her target. A troll hastening towards her, its immense axe raised high, a guttural, bloodthirsty roar, escaping its lips. Closing fast, the troll would reach her in two strides… one stride…

_Ckllrraaannkk_! Thunder pealed as the great sledge struck the troll in the jaw. The troll collapsed limply as a boned fish, its head cocked at an unnatural angle. Picking up the axe, she threw herself into the battle. Bringing the axe to bear on a dark elf, the jagged blade clove the elf, raking across his body, and leaving horrific wounds.

With all her might, she hurled the axe at a frost giant. The wicked blade blurred as it somersaulted through the air, end over end over end, before lodging fully in the giant's chest. She then swung Mjolnir in an overhand arc, smashing the skull of a dwarf. Running forward she twisted sideways, whirling her hammer around to smash another foe in the back, before launching herself into a cartwheel. Pivoting as she landed, she pushed off ground with both hands, sailing over a troll leaning in to snatch her up in its massive arms, and bludgeoning it in the face with her mighty hammer as she did so.

Whipping around as she landed, a sonorous clangor resounded as Mjolnir collided with a sword. The force reverberated up her arm, jarring her to the bone. The weapons disengaged and met again. Blood drummed in her ears. Her other hand clenched and the fist caught her foe in the face, sending him staggering. Mjolnir whirled around, at speeds nearly impossible to see, slamming into one enemy then the next as the hoard surrounded her weakened foe. Again and again, the enchanted sledge brought ruination upon those who ventured too near the Thunderess.

At last spotting her quarry, she flung the great hammer at him. The mighty sledge caught him in the gut, driving him into the ground, furrowing it. Holding out her hand hammer flew back to her. The intensity of the battle was waning. The hoards of trolls and giants, of dark elves and dwarves were in retreat, the tide of the battle having shifted in favor of the Agardians.

A cheer rose; a cry of victory. The hosts of Asgard had prevailed.

The wounded were borne away on stretchers, and the valkyries tended to the dead. Balder was one of those carried by stretcher. She watched, dispassionately gazing over the battlefield, learning the faces of the dead and dying. As a mortal, she had gained a new perspective. Abhorring the carnage wrought by the battle, no longer did she wish to court war—yet ever would she defend those in need. Resolved to this course, she looked upon the gates of Asgard, anguish in her heart, a heart torn by divided loyalties.

One to her life of old among the gods of Asgard. Loyalty and obedience to her father and king, Odin, dedication to her home, to her friends and love. Another to her life on Midgard, to Tara, and the others. She would need to choose—how could she? What loyalties held precedence? Oh, what curse was this to lament her so? Yet a great many answers were within her grasp, the conjecture of their origin at last understood. Why, even as a mortal, she had placed such value on loyalty; her near instinctive love for Viking Rock; and the source of her temper.

All of these were trivialities as a god, yet so vital to the understanding of her mortal self. The answers that she had fought for all her life, and could never know. Answers she no longer needed or wished to bear the burdened of. Answers she—

Her musings were interrupted.

"Verily, we are indebted to thee, for thy timely intervention. Wouldst thou not tell us thy name, fair maiden? So as we mayest bestow 'pon thee graciousness befitting thine act of valor."

"Wherefore," she replied, rounding on her heel to face her old friends for the first time, "Good Fandral, thou saucy fellow, shouldst I do thee a disservice unto thy pride? When thou hath but to look upon Mighty Mjolnir to know who I am."

"Thor?" the blond man gasped, dumbstruck. The shock of such a revelation clearly writ on his face; Volstagg and Hogun, likewise gazed in wonderment upon the maiden before them. It was but a grand jest, surly she could not be Thor—could she? Yet the power she displayed; the manner with which she spoke. It must be.

"Ho, Volstagg, Hogun, I am rejoiced to see thou still in confederacy with this merry rouge." She addressed the remainder of the Warriors Three.

"By Odin's beard," swore Volstagg, laughter creeping into his voice, "It can't be. It cannot be… Thor, but…" Hogun merely stood in silence, ever grim, awaiting answers.

"How, come I unto this form—a woman's body?" she supplied, the question the big man could not voice. "This, I know not, and must beset Odin for the answer. Come, friends, let us away to the Great Hall, to await Odin's awakening." She reached out snaring the reins of a rider-less horse, and placing foot to stirrup, when a gloom-ridden silence overtook them. The Thunderess hoisted herself into the saddle, and the mount sensing her tension, frisked. Once her new mount was thoroughly under control, she turned her gaze to her friends. Their sorrowed countenances, the broodful cast of their eyes… "What vexes thee?"

A clap of thunder her only answer.

"Out with it, lest I be out with thee!" she shouted, her own face a malevolent thunderhead.

"The Odinsleep came upon him yesteryear, and he has yet to wake. For some time omnipotent Odin hath been wearied and grief-stricken, at learning of the death of thy mortal vessel—thy own entry into oblivion, coinciding. All believed thee lost."

"Lost," she repeated in a whisper, before continuing loud enough for them to hear, "Indeed, lost! Lost in another's soul; but found now I am. But now thine banishment is lifted, and to my father's side must I attend. Mayhap he shalt now awaken that I am returned."

"Indeed," said Hogun, his measured timbre betrayed of any attitude, as he climbed into a saddle, "with Thor returned unto us, Asgard once more hath hope."

"Come, friends," Fandral called, as he and Volstagg likewise followed suite, placing backside to saddle, "we've much to celebrate—much drinking and feasting to partake of." He turned his attention to her, flashing a crooked grin that set off his eyes in a most dazzling fashion. Set on his face with his handsome features, it was a smile to make maidens swoon. It was as much a weapon as the blade at his hip, and he wielded both with equal skill. "Mayhap, when all hath had their fill of mead and food, we can celebrate thy return in a more intimate manner late of this eventide."

The Thunderess knew well his game, as she had learned it in her mortal life. He was not the only one who could cut quick the heart with a smile—set blood to racing with a glance. She turned on him a smile of her own, marching her steed next to his. She placed her hand upon the blond warrior's shoulder, schooling her features to those of a vulnerable young maiden in need, her eyes twin pools of teal, innocent and beseeching, deeper than the seas drawing him in. Leaning into his ear, and in a voice of honeyed steel, she whispered loud enough for the others to hear, "Have a care, Fandral, of whence you cast thy charms, for I am no mere maiden to besot for a trifle dalliance, for were we not friends, I wouldst rend thee of them on the instant."

His face grew long, as she pulled away, a worried frown replacing his smile. Hogun and Volstagg roared in ruckus laughter at his misfortune. "Yes, well," he recovered himself; "Your time away hath not slowed thy wit, or dulled the fires of thy temper. Are we to squander our (time?), in needless debate, when we canst proceed unto omnipotent Odin's side?"

"Verily," Volstagg exclaimed, "I athirst! All this yammering doth make dry the throat."


End file.
